


Fuck Circle; an interlude in the woods

by Cards_Slash



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: Doc had only gone looking for Robert Svane because Wyatt promised to buy him a drink when he got back.  The fact that he didn't even remember meeting the man didn't matter, he could find anyone if he set his mind to it.  Of course, it was easier when the man you were looking for was just politely sitting in a circle in the middle of the forest...
Relationships: Doc Holliday/Bobo Del Rey | Robert Svane
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

Doc had only been out in the woods because of _Wyatt_ ; he certainly wouldn’t have gone out voluntarily looking for one missing man who hadn’t even been gone longer than twenty four hours. A man needed time to himself sometimes. You didn’t even need to go looking for him until he’d been missing for at least a week. Of course, by then, it was most likely you either wouldn’t find him or you’d only find him in pieces. Either way, it almost made the case there was never a good time to go looking for a missing man.

He couldn’t even swear that he even had an idea of what Robert looked like. (Your height, Wyatt said, wears glasses? Hat? Red plaid suit?) What was perfectly obvious from how Wyatt talked was that Doc _had_ met Robert and that he should be able to envision his uninspiring person from these simple descriptions. The longer Wyatt had gone on, the more disappointed he had gotten, until he cut himself off at the end with a frown. He had _not_ offered Doc money outright but he had made sure to mention they could get a drink and play a few rounds at Wyatt’s expense.

It was shaping up to be the easiest free drinks Doc had made in months. Robert didn’t appear to have a single ounce of reasonable fear of being followed. Men who thought that honesty was _important_ never seemed to understand that even when you weren’t hiding something you always wanted to be difficult to find. But the natural world needed honest men without a lick of sense; they were the mice of the human world, existing to keep the food chain from collapsing.

Robert might have simply run a ribbon behind him as he went for how easy his trail was to follow. Starting out at where he’d left his horse tied up, Doc followed his footsteps like they’d been painted into the dirt, one after another around and through without any sense of direction. Wherever Robert had been _intending_ to go, he seemed to have been planning on arriving there by accident.

There was no signs of a struggle. No signs that any sort of hooligans had jumped out from behind a tight clump of trees. The farther he went, the less sense it made that the man hadn’t simply found his way back. Even the dark, the forest almost seemed to be parting in front of him, making an easy path to follow. 

In fact, he was moving so easily he started moving _quicker_. Going fast in any direction you’d never gone before was never the best idea, but even less so when you were following the long curve of an unknown part of the forest. Doc had just enough time to think he _should_ slow down just before he found himself striding around a sharp right.

“Stop!” 

The ground dropped a half-foot lower with no warning at all. Even with Doc throwing his weight back, his feet slid out from under him. The world seemed to tilt wildly on it’s side and his whole body jerked forward across something that felt gelatinous and _cool_ , like a great glob of congealed fat. It oozed over his face so he had no choice but to close his eyes, and by the time he opened them again he found himself standing in the middle of a depressed circle in the middle of the woods. It stretched a good ten feet across in the middle with the place where he had _just_ been standing at least four and a half feet from where he was _now_.

“What the _hell_?” he snapped.

There at his feet, leaning up his elbows from where he must have been taking a nice _nap_ was the man that Wyatt had been describing to him. A meek man with a beard, and a round hat, wearing glasses and an ugly plaid suit. He had the _gall_ to look disappointed to find Doc standing there. “I don’t know what it is, but once you’re in it, you can’t get out.”

\--

It had been too much to hope that Wyatt might come to find him. Or perhaps that was arrogant to think that the choice to send someone else in his stead had anything to do with his feelings toward Robert. Doc had a reputation of being something like a bloodhound. If that reputation had as much to do with his work with Wyatt as it had to do with the commonly known fact that if you wanted to keep breathing, you made sure to stay on Doc’s good side well that wasn’t important.

Wyatt just couldn’t see the sort of man Doc was when he wasn’t around.

However, there certainly were men that Robert would rather be trapped in the woods with. (Almost all of them, in fact.) Any number of men he knew wouldn’t have curled up their lips in disgust as soon as they heard him talking, or dismissed him without so much as a hum of acknowledgement.

That was alright, because Robert had suffered that same disbelief in the beginning. He’d exhausted himself making attempts to get back out. He’d rationalized that maybe he just remembered it wrong, that if he just walked with more confidence he could easily get out.

Doc was going to waste his time doing the same because the only thing keeping them here was a slight dip in the earth. It seemed like all you would need to do was walk back toward the place you came. Only, as Doc was now discovering, as soon as you started walking toward it your whole body just up and turned the other way.

Robert had taken a running start and ended up making two full circles of this little hell before he discovered that he could _not_ force himself to walk back out. It had felt like insanity when it was happening to him; as if he had lost control of his body and his ability to understand the world around him. All that time you spent trying to control your limbs only to find yourself standing back where you started left you feeling a little _less_ stable.

But watching it was, at least, a little bit funny. Doc spun in a circle six times, looking angrier and more confused every time his body turned around that last few inches before he reached the edge. No matter how many times he tried (at least twenty) the result was always the same. You simply could _not_ leave.

Doc reacted as any man with his temperament might, he drew in a steadying breath as his whole face contracted in anger and before he even managed to fully exhale he had a gun pointed at Robert’s face. “I do _not_ find this amusing. Whatever witchcraft you have enacted to trap me here, I suggest you find a way to undo it.”

Robert was _hungry_. He’d already drank what little water he’d carried with him. He’d been stuck out here in the crisp fall for a full day and a full night and he wasn’t _happy_ about it. There was dirt all over his clothes from trying to find any manner of laying that allowed him to stay warm enough to _sleep_. What he most certainly had _not_ done was intentionally trapped himself here. 

But it didn’t matter as he put his hands up, “I can’t get out either. I tried, there’s no way out.”

Doc pulled back the hammer on the gun with deliberate slowness, taking his time about making sure the implication that he would shoot an innocent man was perfectly clear. “I did not ask what you can _not_ do.”

“I did not do this,” he said each word very closely so they could not be misunderstood. He felt like an idiot, on his ass in the dirt with his legs spread in front of him and his hands up in surrender. But he’d been feeling like an idiot for the past twenty-four hours. “I do not believe shooting me will free you.”

Doc took a step forward so the hard edge of the barrel of his gun was pressed into Robert’s forehead. His fingers loosened and tightened their grip as hesitated about squeezing the trigger. All of his embarrassment and anger made his face ruddy and red, but he sighed in the end and uncocked the gun. “You do not look smart enough to have thought up something this devious.”

\--

There was nothing spectacular at all about the edge of this circle he found himself unable to escape. Of course, he could not get to it close enough to examine it properly. From the distance he was standing (a good two feet) he could only see where the dirt had formed a sort of landslide of debris. Little bits of leaves, and rocks and twigs that had been snapped to bits. 

The whole circle itself seemed to be made of the same sort of soft, almost freshly turned dirt save for where Robert had been rolling in it. Even that was not packed as hard as one might have assumed it would be. No amount of digging with his hand or knife found anything but more and more of the same sort of fresh, warm dirt. He was contemplating laying on his belly and reaching out with his hand to see if he could feel the border for anything that was _recognizable_. 

Metal, maybe. Rock? 

Doc wasn’t familiar with what kind of witchy nonsense allowed a patch of tilled dirt to hold people captive but it felt like the sort of thing that had to have some _physical_ presence to work.

Robert was doing nothing. It seemed like the sort of nothing a man did when he was being purposefully resistant to helping. So the man was not a genius but he had been here long enough that he had to have _some_ ideas about the trap holding him. Instead of offering any observations or assisting Doc in his own, he was just sitting across the circle frowning at his own crossed legs.

“Nobody has come to check their trap?” Doc asked. He made it as far as his knees with his hand reaching toward the edge when his whole body seemed to be seized with the undeniable need to move _away_. He couldn’t even force himself to lay down, he ended up flopping back onto his ass instead. “Oh,” he hissed at the nothing keeping him from figuring out the trap, “I do not like this.”

This was the sort of thing that required a cigarillo to think through. He dug one out of his pocket along with a match. Behind his back, Robert (who was determined not to help him at all) let out a hell of a sigh.

Since he could not get out, or even closer to the edge, Doc turned to face his cellmate. “Do you object to my smoking?”

“No,” Robert lied right through all his teeth, “a man has every right to smoke wherever he feels like it. No matter who else is around.”

Well, as long as they all agreed that Doc had the right to smoke wherever he wanted. He leaned back so he was stretched out, resting on his elbows with his legs crossed at the ankle. He couldn’t see the edge of the circle, or dear Robert’s frowning face, but he had a lovely view of the leaves over their head. 

\--

The fact that Doc Holliday was a son of a bitch was not, in any definition of the word, _news_. Even if you were lucky enough not to have any kind of personal knowledge of the man, you most certainly had heard the sort of whispers about exactly what sort of person he was. A dentist turned professional gambler that was as mean as a snake. 

They called him a lawman _now_ , but that was the sort of thing that was well understood to be a matter of association. In that, Doc had managed to secure the lifelong loyalty of a good man and no amount of proof was ever going to convince Wyatt that Doc didn’t deserve his compassion and friendship.

What Robert had _not_ known was how careless Doc was. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to him that the very same man that had pressed a gun to his head was now laying out on the dirt with his hat covering his face, doing his best impression of a log. Doc wasn’t sleeping, he was _lounging_.

Every part of him was in an aggressive state of relaxation from his crossed ankles to his thighs to his perfectly flat belly. Up and up to where his arms were crossed behind his head. Even his mouth, visible under the brim of his hat, was lazily curved into a resting smile. 

It was enough to give a man ideas about shaking sense to someone. Robert could almost imagine himself doing it. He would just roll onto his knees and grab Doc by his vest, he’d drag him off the ground and bite his frustrations into the man’s neck. He’d dig his teeth into the rough skin just under his jaw, where he hadn’t decided if he needed a shave or not. That stubble would scrape along his teeth like a struck bell. And it would grate over his tongue in a way that made his whole body shiver. 

Doc would _hate_ being held like that. He’d thrash in the dirt, kicking up a storm cloud of dust and--

“What?” Robert hissed. He had _not_ meant to make a sound but the word was knocked out of his chest and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. 

Doc lifted the hat to look at him, a mockery of concern on his arrogant face as he raised an eyebrow without saying a word. “Did you say something?”

“No,” Robert said.

\--

What Wyatt had neglected to mention was that his pitifully lost little friend lusted after other men. Doc wasn’t the sort of person to hold any sort of deviant desire against a man; not even the sort that left him with tingling skin. Robert could look at him all he wanted, he could slide his half-shut eyes across every inch of Doc’s skin if that’s what did it for him. 

Robert wouldn’t even be the first man to get caught up on thoughts about the sorts of things that Doc’s body was capable of. He’d had every manner of stare, from the lingering lick-lipping sort of look that suggested he was being sized up like a stud bull to the aggressive, breath-catching stares that made him feel a bit like a whore for sale. 

As far as Doc was concerned, he was willing to entertain offers from any sex as long as they were capable of keeping their mouths shut. (At least to keep them shut in the _aftermath_ , he was quite fond of an easily opened mouth during the event.) 

Their present situation didn’t seem like the sort of thing that would inspire a man to dirty daydreams, but Robert also didn’t seem like the sort of man that had ever been given the opportunity to _act_ on his latent desires. His face wasn’t as pleasant to look at as the usual fresh-faced boys that sighed after him with offers. His shoulders were round under his clothes but his arms and legs were barely bigger around than your average twig.

He met none of the criteria for the men that Doc was willing to entertain. Somewhere in this world, there had to be someone that would find his scruffy beard and his ridiculous round glasses attractive, but Robert didn’t strike him as a man brave enough to give it a proper try.

“I do hope you are enjoying yourself,” Doc said.

Robert blushed like a schoolboy. Maybe that would have meant something if he hadn’t also taken the precaution of resting his hat over his lap. “I don’t know why this is happening.”

Doc snorted at that. “I have heard many denials in my day but _that_ has to be the weakest I have ever heard.”

“No,” Robert snapped at him with more force than he looked to be capable of, “I mean, I _know_ but not _you_. Not _now_.”

\--

Doc had the sort of face that could have made a saint want to punch him. There was just something about it, curling up in arrogant amusement, that made him simultaneously the most _frustrating_ thing that Robert had ever seen but also one of the most attractive. It was effortless, the way that even his arrogance seemed to be charming. You couldn’t quantify something like charm; you couldn’t even explain it.

Robert couldn’t explain why he was filled up with thoughts about how long and lithe Doc’s body was. He couldn’t stop imagining running his tongue from his navel to his neck just to taste his skin. Maybe he hadn’t seen for himself but Doc’s body had to be lean and muscled. He must have had that type of skin that went pink when it was aroused. And it would get _hot_ , as his back arched because he couldn’t stop himself from chasing the feeling of Robert’s mouth on him.

Maybe Doc wouldn’t let himself be held down and fucked and why would he? He had a reputation that every man in the world would be envious of. There wasn’t a single woman that had the honor of bedding this man that had a foul word to say about the experience. No, Doc was used to stretching his long body over someone, of spreading them open--

And Robert could just _imagine_ what that would feel like. To be worked open by his rough fingers and filled up with his--

What?

Robert didn’t want to be pinned down and fucked by this man. (But he _did_.) He didn’t want to be used by a man who would just slap him on the ass when he was done. Doc deserved to be the one on his back, to be squirming underneath him. Robert would rub his cock all over the man until he was sticky from all the cum smeared on every bit of his body.

No, no, no. _No_.

Robert closed his eyes and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes like he could push the lingering image out if he just tried hard enough. But with his eyes closed, his imagination had free reign to fill up his brain with moving pictures filled up of how debauched and filthy Doc would look--

“This is not right,” Robert said.

“I believe that’s up to the almighty to decide,” Doc said.

“I have been _here_ in this circle since yesterday morning.” Robert was keeping his voice level because it felt _important_ to talk slowly and at a low enough volume that he couldn’t be accused of getting hysterical. At present, with his body warming up everywhere under his clothes and his out of control cock so hard and _ready_ that every small movement that provided even the most passing bit of friction felt like the best sex he’d had in _years_ , everything felt hysterical. But he was holding his hands away from his body, and aiming for rational. “I am hungry. I am thirsty. I am tired. What I am not is interested in you.”

\--

This insistence on denial was a worrying habit for a man who could not be _more obviously_ aroused than the embarrassing plaid-suited gentleman sitting in front of him. That look of dawning horror and unanswered desire was exactly like the stare of the many customers Doc remembered from his time operating the bordello. 

The only noticeable difference between that situation and this one was that the only thing separating those men from an orgasm was a certain amount of cash. Robert was going to need more than a fistful of money to get what he wanted from Doc. 

“You would not be the first man to be distracted by the needs of his dick when his survival is in question. Even a man such as yourself must have met a woman at some point in your life. Surely you are therefore aware of their unique ability to seduce a man out of all common sense.” Doc sat up while he talked. He fixed his hat so it was sitting right on his head, and all the while he did it, Robert’s flushed neck got redder and redder.

His skin must have felt like a fire. His pulse must be beating so quickly a man could feel it on his tongue when they were kissing. The whole of his body seemed to be arching like he was only one breath away from losing control. 

“You’re not a woman,” Robert said so low and deep into his chest it seemed to vibrate through his whole body. His eyes were closed and it was doing nothing at all to bring any sense of calm to his shivering limbs. If anything, it made how his thighs were twitching as his hips seemed to shift back and forth without moving at all seem even more out of his control.

“How fortuitous for you. As it does not appear that women are of interest to you.” 

It had been one thing to feel that tingle of being looked at with interest when he was actually being _looked_ at. Now that Robert was keeping his eyes closed and his head tilted down toward the dirt, there was absolutely no reason that his body should still be prickling with warmth like it was. There it was, getting all warm and tight low in his gut, filling up his dick with a pulsing hopefulness. 

“You,” Robert said with heavy breath, “are not a good man.”

Doc pressed his hand against his half-hard dick and the sensation was so overwhelming and immediate that it was almost unbearable. It was like touching a hot coal, a confusing suddenness of sensation that bled back into an understandable pain. In the meantime his body had pushed his hips into the curve of his palm as his shoulders dropped back. 

“Fuck,” he said as his hat fell off.

Robert did look at him then, just the narrowest of glittering stares. “No.”

“Just what sort of witchcraft have you gotten us into?” Doc shouted at him. He was putting every ounce of his self control into moving his hand off his dick and it still felt like he only barely managed it. 

Doc laid down and he couldn’t be certain that it was because he was half-way to falling over or because a certain portion of his instincts felt like it improved his chances of seducing a nearby fuck partner. (That was very generous of his instincts to assume a man like Robert would know what to do once he crawled on top of a man.) 

“I did _not_ do this,” Robert said. Every word was spaced with the sound of his tongue running across his lips. “I have been here this whole time and it was not like this. If it is anyone who is responsible, it is _you_.”

That was just unacceptable slander. Doc had meant to draw his gun because it seemed like this situation could only be improved by reminding the useless man sitting two feet to his side that he was, in fact, expendable, but the most he managed was to get a hand on his holster. It wasn’t even in the general area of the guns. His finger was digging into the buckle how it did when removing it was his primary goal. 

“What are you doing?” Robert asked.

\--

Doc did not seem to know what he was doing. He’d fallen back to lay on his back with his knees bent and his thighs spread. His head was tipped up and staring down the flat length of his body as he undid his gunbelt and not one single part of his entire body seemed to understand why it was doing it. 

“I believe we need to have an uncomfortable discussion,” Doc said. 

“About?” At the moment, most of Robert’s thoughts were focused on how now that he was laying down, Doc’s shirt was riding up from where it should have been tucked into his pants. There was a sliver of skin showing. Robert wanted to feel it under his tongue and it was the _only_ thing he wanted. 

The fact that they were trapped here did not matter. The fact that he had never had a lewd idea about Doc fucking Holliday did not matter. 

No, it only mattered how Doc squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his own belly in some attempt to keep himself from taking anything else off. “It appears that we are under some manner of spell. It follows, then, that we either do what we are being called to do or we attempt to resist.”

Robert’s body was _aching_. The longer he kept still, the more violent the urge became. He’d started out daydreaming about how sweetly he wanted to kiss Doc, and now he was clenching his fists, reminding himself that decent men didn’t think about ripping each other’s clothes off. (But it wasn’t as if Doc would resist him. It wasn’t as if they didn’t both want it; they didn’t both _need_ it.) 

“Resistance does not seem like a realistic option.”

“Thus the _uncomfortable_ part of our conversation,” Doc opened his eyes again, he tipped his head so he was looking at Robert instead of his own spread knees. “Given your interest in men, I assume you have some ideas as to--”

“I thought you were good at _this_.”

“This?”

Robert shrugged his coat off his shoulders. All of his clothes had buttons, and his fingers felt too sensitive and too fat to worry about getting them loosened properly. He dug his blunt fingertips into the spaces between the buttons to pull the vest open in one go. 

Doc was breathing hard enough it was making his whole body start to shiver. His tongue was sliding across his mouth in a way that suggested nothing comforting. Doc sat up to pull his coat off and threw it on the ground behind him. “I assure you I am very good at _this_.”

Neither one of them was going to be _any_ good at this.

\--

Nobody would call Doc _romantic_ but he did enjoy the usual manner of foreplay as much as he enjoyed the act of sex itself. He _liked_ kissing and he wasn’t the sort of man that got all caught up on being ashamed of it. His body was filled up with a liquid fire that grew a little more uncontrolled and uncomfortable by the heartbeat _but_ he still had every intention of kissing the man he was about to fuck. 

Robert was on his knees with his pants slipping off his hips because it must have felt the same for him. But Robert leaned back when Doc got close, a sudden jerk of his shoulders and face and a quick-and-breathless, “don’t do that.”

Well, if they were settling for that sort of thing. “Bend over,” he said.

Poor Robert was caught between the extreme of being _offended_ and the desperation driving him toward whatever might constitute relief. His eyes slid closed because he shivered like a tremor. His bared teeth were wet and feral, and he growled something like, “but you _have_ done this?”

“Of course I have,” Doc assured him. Albeit not quite like this. He shoved his suspenders off and dropped both hands to loosen his pants so he could get them pushed low enough to free his pulsing cock.

This had gone past any state of arousal that he had ever experienced in his life. His dick was as hard as it has ever been, verging into painful so seamlessly that he couldn’t tell if he liked it or not. He was already leaking cum and he’d barely even seen a decent patch of Robert’s bare skin. 

Robert groaned as he shuffled sideways on his knees, turning around to face away from Doc as his pants sagged low across his ass. “I have not,” he said.

That was unfortunate. There was enough sweat on Doc’s face to lead a man to thinking he’d already been fucking for hours. He felt like the woods around them had been set on _fire_ , every little breeze of air felt like a lick of heat. 

No, no. He grabbed his coat so he could shove his hands into the pockets until he found the dinged up little flask. There was nothing rational about the way he was feeling, and it was getting harder and harder (yes it was) to concentrate on anything that wasn’t going to get his dick buried in Robert as quickly as possible but not even Doc was cruel enough to fuck a man for the first time without _something_ to ease the way. 

His hands were shaking as he spilled the lube onto his palm and spread it over his dick. Just the touch of his own hand made his heart race harder, made his hips jerk forward into the touch. It felt _good_ and _terrible_ all at the same time. It was and was _not_ exactly what he was craving. 

Whatever this circle was doing to them, it didn’t want them resolving it on their own (so to speak). 

Doc had to close his eyes just to catch his breath. He was sucking in overheated air, finding some sort of calm that would allow him to continue. It was all going to be a waste of his time as soon as he opened his eyes but at _least_ he could say that he tried. 

\--

The first brush of Doc’s hand across his ass was as sharp as a slap. The touch was soft, but it went hot on Robert’s skin. It was _overwhelming_. Robert barely had the time to adjust to it before the slick fingers pressed against his ass with careless efficiency. That touch wasn’t meant to be gentle because they weren’t here out of any sort of choice. 

Doc was inching forward on his knees, taking up space between Robert’s spread knees. “I advise you not to take this as a proper example of sex.” 

That was a confusing mess of words when the only thing Robert wanted from the man was his goddamn dick. He might have said something to that effect, but he didn’t have the _time_. Doc’s slick fingers moved away to make space for his cock, and he was pushing into Robert without a pause. 

Robert had never done this, not even so much as his own finger, but all at once it felt like the only thing in all the world that would make him feel _better_. It didn’t matter one damn bit that it was a far cry from perfect. It didn’t matter that it almost hurt as constant as the stretch was, as Doc kept rocking into him without stopping. They were both groaning--and Robert couldn’t help but think they were having _very_ different experiences. 

That didn’t matter either, because he pushed back to take it faster. There was a brilliant moment of _relief_ that could not be put into any combination of words, just _there_ when Doc was buried as deep as he could get. Everything was, just for that one moment, absolutely perfect again. 

Robert could _think_ in full sentences, like he’d just woken up from a hell of a dream. Only he was on his hands and knees in the dirt with a dick up his ass and Doc Holliday laying across his back. All that want that had driven him to this moment wasn’t _gone_ but it had faded into something that felt manageable. 

Doc’s forehead was pressed into his back, his breath was a fog through Robert’s shirt. His hands were folded around Robert’s ribs like he thought there was a chance he might try to escape. “Should I…?”

The relief was slipping away from him, Robert wasted his last sane breath to say, “I think we have to.”

Doc’s answer was a nod against his back. His first thrust was shallow, the second was unsteady, and he groaned like a growl as he straightened back up right. His hand was broad and hard, pushed into the center of Robert’s shoulders until he dropped down to his elbows. When he fucked forward again, it was hard and quick and deep. The slap of their skin echoed through the circle, and it should have been _humiliating_ to be fucked on his knees in the dirt like that.

None of this had been Robert’s choice, and the perfection of how _good_ Doc felt moving in him wasn’t anything he could control. Maybe it was surrender to give in and let the curse make it feel good, and maybe it was the only way to make it through. 

Either way, he was digging his teeth into his own arm as Doc fucked him and it was absolutely fucking perfect.

\--

Doc had had any number of orgasms in his life. If a man were to offer him enough drinks he might even be able to recall a few that he would have characterized as _explosive_. He might have said they were the sort of thing that rearranged all of your bones. Maybe he could have made up a fantastic story about how he’d done the same to a partner or two.

What he could _not_ have made up was an orgasm that felt like it was stripping out all the marrow of his bones. He could not have described something that felt very much like dying wrapped up in glorious pleasure and ended with every tree just beyond the edge of the circle shaking all their leaves at once. 

A mortal man was not capable of surviving the sort of orgasm that shook trees.

In the aftermath, Robert was just quivering all over. He was doing his best to stay on his elbows and knees, all but crying into the crook of his arm because whatever the hell they’d just lived through was not meant to be felt by men like them. (It certainly set some kind of unattainable bar for future sex attempts.) 

Doc leaned back until they were fully separate again, and pulled his pants back up so he could collapse on his ass in the dirt. 

Robert took another moment to collect himself before he pulled his own pants up and climbed up off his knees and onto his feet. He was all hurried motion, fixing his suspenders as his legs did their best to hold him. Even when you weren’t crippled by an orgasm as intense as the one they’d only just finished surviving, getting fucked as brutally as Robert had just been left you unsteady on your feet. 

His jelly legs didn’t seem to stop him from grabbing his vest and coat off the ground and walking out of the circle without so much as a thank you. Of course, a man could be forgiven for a lack of manners given the circumstances. 

Either way, Doc grabbed his own belongings and followed Robert before the circle decided to reactivate it’s trap. He took a moment to fix his clothes and gunbelt before he lit a cigarillo. Even with those momentary hang-ups he still caught up to Robert at the edge of the forest.

Robert frowned at him and Doc tipped his hat, and was really all that needed to be said on the matter. He had done what he’d been sent out to do. Robert had been located and as soon as he worked out if he wanted to walk or ride back to town, he would be back where he belonged.

Doc had a drink to collect and a whole afternoon of his life to forget.


	2. Chapter 2

Of all his petty and ridiculous ideas, Bobo could not figure out if this one were the _most_ petty or the _most_ ridiculous. It could qualify as either. The flicker of mean-spirited heat licking up from the bottom of his belly felt enough like pettiness to give him a viable excuse. He hadn’t come all this way, navigating the seemingly endless forest, searching for a circular dent in the ground, because he’d been daydreaming about a fuck worth having. 

No, he was here because of pay back.

The supplies he’d brought along with him added an air of ridiculousness to the hunt. He was a demon with a borrowed pink camp chair and a tattered book bag hanging off one shoulder wearing a fur coat and wandering the forest. If he hadn’t convinced himself that his plan was a nearly perfect method of exacting revenge for an offense done to him in his previous life, he might not have been able to overcome the shame. He might have been forced to _actually_ face up to the level of desperation that was fueling this little quest.

Still, he was armed with supplies and excuses when he followed the last curl of the familiar path that led him straight to what Constance had referred to as a ‘fuck circle’ in the woods. He hadn’t brought her out to it, but when he’d attempted to vaguely describe the phenomenon that had ended with Robert Svane getting fucked (for the first time) she had laughed with the tips of her fingernails digging into his bare skin and her whole body quivering in joy.

Constance wasn’t the witch that put it there; but she thought it was a delightful bit of magic to leave laying around to ensnare unsuspecting travellers. Since it required no power source, it could, _theoretically_ last forever.

Bobo stopped at the very edge of it where the almost filmy-feeling barrier separated freedom from a bad choice. He wasn’t having second thoughts, he was gathering up his worst intentions to put them in a concise little bundle so that when he stepped _in_ to the damn thing it didn’t deliver him someone he didn’t want.

(Not that Robert could have had any idea what was happening a hundred and thirty years ago. Not that he would have had the courage or pride to wish for the man he _actually_ wanted.)

John Henry fucking Holliday had been seen strolling his dusty ass into Shorty’s in town. Bobo had been waiting for 130 years for the lazy bastard to figure a way out of the well. (Minus the time spent in hell.) Now that he was out, there was no idea _not_ to test out the supposed eternal strength of this particular magic.

He drew in a breath and let it out again as he stepped through the barrier. Time seemed to distort, and the world sort of tipped to one side. He should have been standing a foot from where he started but there he was, dead center in the circle with no memory of walking so far.

But then he had no memory of opening the chair either, and yet there it was: popped open and read to be sat in. The sack he’d brought was sitting next to it. His skin was humming just beneath the surface, like the overheated tingle of being freshly slapped.

All that was left to do now was wait.

\--

Now maybe Doc had missed a few things in the decades he had spent in the dark. Perhaps he had forgotten some things, the way any man who wakes up from a heavy sleep might forget where he was precisely. But that sense of vertigo that was following him through every step as he discovered the world had not simply _stopped_ just because he hadn’t been there to watch it move evaporated like a wet kiss on hot skin as _soon_ as he stepped foot on the cursed path. 

It felt like an unexpected landing, the sharp and jarring realization that he _knew_ where he was but he did _not_ remember how he’d gotten there. The last solid memory he had was the delightful discovery of warm water and free soap waiting for him in a public bathroom. It had been as close to Christmas as he’d ever had, and his whole body was thankful for that modern blessing.

But how he had gone from a bathroom to halfway down a path he hadn’t travelled since he’d been left behind by the miserably meek and mild mannered Robert Svane was a troubling mystery. Even worse than the fact that he couldn’t _recall_ how he’d gotten here was the fact that despite all his _trying_ , he was not slowing down. 

He was going _faster_.

This time, just like the last time, he was being yanked onward by a force he couldn’t see. It felt like it had coiled a fist in his belly and it was pulling him along. Every step made it feel like the last one wasn’t going _quick_ enough. It took all of Doc’s concentration just to keep from breaking into a run. 

It was the matter of a miracle and quick thinking that let him reach out as he made that last turn before the circle depression that compelled men to fuck regardless of their personal tastes. His elbow hooked around the trunk of a young tree with enough force that even with his feet going full speed on their own accord, he was yanked to a stop just beyond the edge of the circle. 

With his breath coming like a great gust of wind, the first moment of stillness was lost to the overwhelming relief that he was granted what passed for a reprieve. That _at least_ he’d get a chance to see what unfortunate soul had gotten caught in the circle this time. He was preparing himself to deliver the bad news about the sort of situation they were going to find themselves in. He thought, maybe he’d do a better job introducing himself this time.

(Not that it had been necessary the last time, seeing how Robert Svane had known who he was.)

Only, when he opened his eyes, he did not find an unfortunate soul of this modern, technological world but the shockingly familiar face of an absolute bastard grinning back at him. No, there was no damsel in distress trapped by nefarious magic. There was only Robert Svane’s overwhelmingly smug body sprawled out on a canvas chair. His knees were spread so far apart they were issuing their own sort of invitation independent of the circle. And the bastard didn’t offer so much as a word of explanation of how he’d lived long enough to be sitting there. He didn’t offer any kind of clues as to how he’d managed to develop a personality (and perhaps the slightest bit of sex appeal) in the past century.

No, he pulled his mouth into a pout fit for a child, as his hand hung against the inside of his thigh as he said, “oh come on, Henry. You’ve kept me waiting long enough, don’t you think?” 

\--

Either Henry’s first instinct when he _finally_ climbed out of the well was to find a mirror good enough to shave in or that ring the witch gave him had frozen him in time, facial hair and all. There was a single thing different about John Henry in this moment from the last time Robert had seen him. (Well, except that his color was better and he was _not_ dying of a curable disease.) Even his clothes were the same, as if a hundred and thirty years clinging to the same man’s skin in the bottom of a well had done nothing more to them than apply a fine layer of dust. 

Bobo had dug up enough corpses to know that clothes decayed, but apparently not if they were adorning John Henry Holliday.

“ _I’ve_ kept _you_ waiting?” Henry hissed at him. His outrage was explosive but his voice wasn’t. His arm was hooked so tight around the tree that his range of motion was limited to a single arm waving furiously off to the side.

“As long as we agree.” Bobo leaned to the side to pick up the bottle of liquor he’d brought with him. The very sight of it seemed to flush Henry’s whole face full of blood because his cheeks went red as rose petals. 

Certainly, history had been kind to Doc Holliday. That had much less to do with the truth of his life and a great deal more to do with his tendency to bully, threaten to shoot or shoot people that damaged his precious reputation. It was easy to be remembered a certain way when the last man left to tell your story was in love with you. Wyatt certainly wasn’t going to waste time worrying about the truth when he could tell romanticized tales of Doc Holliday. 

That aside, Bobo had not forgotten that John Henry was _most_ famous for both his proficiency at and his willingness to shoot people. He had anticipated being shot (at) so it wasn’t a surprise that Henry’s loudest instinct was to draw his weapon. 

The slack, awful shock on his face mutated into a peaceful calm as he pulled the trigger.

Bobo sighed as he flicked his hand so the bullet aimed at his forehead was sent careening into the tree line behind him. The second one hit the dirt behind the chair. “Honey, don’t be like that.”

Henry’s arm relaxed but he didn’t holster the gun. He wasn’t red-faced with outrage anymore. His eyes were wide as saucers, glistening white in the distance, but narrowed at him. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten under his clothes, and then just as quick as it happened, he shifted on his feet so he was leaning against the tree instead of just clutching it for his freedom. Instead of shooting at Bobo he was motioning the barrel of the gun over his whole body, “explain.”

\--

Robert did not _immediately_ provide an answer. He shifted his grip on the bottle of liquor so he could spin the lid loose and flick it across the dirt circle. While the motion was unfortunately attractive as the arrogance with which it was done, the implication it left behind was that they weren’t going to stop drinking until the liquor was gone. Robert even lifted the bottle like a toast before he took a long, slow swallow.

He ran his tongue across his lips with hedonistic delight.

“Shot, cursed, hell, demon,” he said, “I think it looks good on me.”

“Given where you started, I cannot imagine that it would have been possible to look _worse_.” 

Robert Svane might have been a great many good and wonderful things but what he was _not_ was attractive on a bottom of your gut, animal-instinct sort of way. This demon grinning at him from the center of the fuck circle appeal to him like all bad ideas did. Even his grating smirk was promising exactly how _bad_ of an idea it was planning on being. “You look,” Robert said with a motion of his hand drawing the shape of Doc’s body in the air, “the same. _Exactly_ the same.”

“Well in _my case_ there was simply no room for improvement.” 

Since there was no point at shooting at a demon that could redirect his bullets (except making himself feel better) Doc holstered his weapon. He might not be wearing any manner of modern clothing. He certainly hadn’t taken the precaution of skinning a forest full of animals so he could present himself as a prize nestled in a mountain of fur. But Doc _knew_ how he looked, and he _knew_ how to use it to his advantage.

“Mustaches are out,” Robert said.

“Well,” Doc said as he settled on his feet in such a way he could lean more casually back against the tree behind him. The spread of his arms pulled his jacket open and that drew attention to the length of his torso. His legs were spread just enough that his hips were prominently displayed and poor Robert couldn’t quite figure out what part of Doc’s body he wanted to fixate on. “As you have gone through the trouble to prepare this trap just to ensure my acquiescence, I am afraid that I find it _exceptionally_ hard to believe that you have found any man that you are as attracted to as you are to _me_.”

For a breath, all that perfectly delicious arrogance blanketing the man disappeared. He was caught on the edge of a laugh, in that split second after you’d been slapped (and deserved it) right before you decided what you meant to do about it. When Robert did move, it was to fold forward so his elbows were against his spread knees and his suspiciously narrowed eyes were staring right at him. His tongue slid off the corner of his mouth as his teeth clicked together and his hummed a noise that could only be described as a growl. 

“You’re thinking of this the wrong way, Henry.”

Oh, but he was _not_. “Am I? So you have _not_ brought me here because you have spent all these long decades thinking about getting _your_ chance to fuck me?”

\--

Things had gotten off track.

Bobo leaned back into the chair because anything else would have given Henry the impression he had _won_ something. “Tree shaking orgasms do tend to stick in the memory. Unless _you’re_ trying to tell me that you haven’t thought about that.”

“Of course I have.” Henry was the sort of man that couldn’t be shamed (at least not for sex). If it weren’t attractive it would have been _infuriating_. (Or maybe it was both.) “However, the intensity of the orgasm does not, by itself, make sex memorable. I have very fond memories of encounters that did not quite meet that impressive height.”

Bobo took another drink and let it filter through him while it lasted. The best he could hope for (after consistent consumption of liquor) was a quiet and pleasant buzz. “So,” he said as he licked the dampness off his lips, “what _exactly_ is it that I am going to have to agree to do in order to convince you to let go of that tree?”

Henry’s smile lit up his face, but all the same they were still on the verge of a hell of a fight. “Robert--”

“Don’t call me that.”

“--you are nothing like the meek little man that I remember meeting in this circle. What _has_ happened to you?”

This was taking significantly longer than Bobo had thought it would take. While he anticipated being shot at and he had expected Henry to put up a token of resistance (or at least bitch about things) he had not thought the bastard would stand outside the circle holding himself hostage. 

Drastic measures would need to be taken. Bobo took another drink and set the bottle to the side where it wouldn’t get kicked over before he stood up. The circle had started warming up as soon as Henry got close to it. The heat was as hot as a tongue, licking all over it could reach bare skin. It had seeped into his coat until it had become almost too hot to stand. He shrugged it back off his shoulders as Henry watched with rapt attention. 

“Hell burns the inhibitions right out of you,” Bobo said. He had _decided_ to wear a shirt back at the trailer park when it seemed like a good idea. Sweat was sticking it to his skin everywhere from his navel to his neck. He rolled it up and off and dropped it in a ball on the ground by the chair. “You were listing your demands?”

No, Henry was staring at his body. He was having lengthy, in-depth thoughts about Bobo’s skin and how smooth and warm it looked. His mouth wasn’t even closed all the way anymore. “Kissing,” he said more or less entirely to Bobo’s chest. 

“How romantic.” Bobo crouched low enough to grab the bag he’d brought and dragged the tightly folded sheet he’d brought with him. It wasn’t that he was too proud to fuck in the dirt, and it wasn’t that this encounter was going to take very long (once it got started anyway) but a little bit of thoughtfulness went a long way with potential sex partners. “Anything else?”

Henry had one hand lingering over the top button of his vest, like he’d only just barely convinced himself to stop before he started loosening up the buttons. “Lubricant?” 

Bobo left the sheet folded over in the middle and stretched it across one of the softer, less twig-infested sections of the circle. Once it was done he stood up so he was looking at Henry (and found that despite his best efforts he had unbuttoned his vest and was working on his shirt underneath it), “yes.”

\--

Well, there was really only one question left to ask.

“What would you prefer I call you?”

Robert knew he’d won and his victory made his chest puff out with pride. He was grinning with ease because he had a sure thing happening before him. It wasn’t the worst way that Doc had ever been looked at but it wasn’t the best either. “Bobo,” he said.

Doc had already let go of the tree or he might have taken another minute to process the sound of that name before he took the last steps forward. One moment he was shrugging his jacket, vest and shirt off one shoulder and the next he was dead center in the circle, standing no more than a matter of inches from _Bobo_. 

“I hope you did not pick that name yourself,” he said. He shook the whole mess of his clothing off one arm before shrugging it free from the other side. Since there was a chair available he threw the ensemble across it. 

“Don’t call me Robert,” he repeated. His fingers traced the faint pink outline where the suspenders rested against Doc’s shoulders. Just that light touch was like touching a match to gunpowder. Now that might have been the power of the circle or it might have been the extraordinary length of time that had elapsed since Doc had last been able to touch _anyone_ much less be touched. The quality of his voice was aiming to be a threat but it echoed out of the base of his gut. 

Robert’s hands slid around his ribs, curved over the shape of his body as they dropped lower to rest against the loose waist of his pants. He dragged his stare back up like it _pained_ him. “Do I kiss you now or wait until we’re naked?”

Doc was not so nitpicky that he was going to outline the course of their sexual encounter minute-by-minute. They had committed themselves (well, Doc had been compelled but he wasn’t upset to be here now) to the power of the fuck circle, so their only mirage of free will that remained was the little bit they had that allowed them choose what they _wanted_ to do. 

For instance, Doc _wanted_ to finish stripping this arrogant bastard down to his skin. He wanted to see what Robert had been hiding under his clothes for all these years. His action was not the same as his answer, but _Bobo’s_ mouth split into another cocky grin as Doc’s hands grabbed him by the belt. 

Robert might have been grinning but he was loosening the cinch of Doc’s gun belt with the same eagerness. However hell had changed him, it couldn’t have changed him _that_ much when he was losing breath over the simplicity of getting a man naked. He could have done whatever the hell he wanted with the ability to control metal but the flats of his palms slid up Doc’s body with reverence. His fingers followed the curve of his shoulder and slid upward at the back of his neck into his hair. 

Just there, it was impossible to know if the spike of heat through his body was anticipation or sex magic. It didn’t matter one way or another. Robert kissed him regardless. His mouth was hot as a fire, seasoned with ash and _confident_ in a way that made a shiver run down Doc’s spine. 

\--

If anyone had asked him this morning how he imagined this moment going, Bobo was sure that it would not have involved Henry’s tongue in his mouth. He wouldn’t have been able to predict how _good_ it felt to have arms around his body. He couldn’t have imagined how easily and eagerly Henry would match his every touch. 

Bobo had come all this way because of revenge and all that. The most he’d expected was matter of fact sex capped off with an ground shaking orgasm. 

Robert had made a stupid choice (one of many) the last time he’d been in this circle when he turned down the chance to kiss John Henry Holliday. Because liquor was nowhere near as good at intoxicating a man as Henry was with nothing but his tongue. A case could be made that the aching throb of his dick had as much to do with genuine, independent desire as it had to do with magically-manufactured lust. 

Not that it mattered.

“Take your pants off,” Bobo growled. 

It was a piss poor attempt to return the situation to an acceptable level of detachment and Henry knew it. He was smiling with his kissed-pink lips as he dropped down to sit on the sheet that had been spread out for him. 

Bobo pulled his boots and socks off before he grabbed the bag to pull out the lube he’d brought with him. He made the mistake of looking back over his shoulder before he threw it and found Henry laying back with his shoulders against the ground and his hips lifted up as he pushed his pants down to his thighs. 

Henry rolled up in the very next moment. It was an unspectacular sight when he was fully dressed, but naked to the skin, watching how the muscles moved in his body was a visual symphony of motion. There he sat, tugging his pants off, preening like a bright-feathered bird that knew it was being watched. And once he was fully naked, he dropped back to rest on his elbows. “After all this trouble, have you decided not to join me on this,” his fingers ran across the sheet, “very comfortable bed?”

“Is that how you want to get fucked?” Bobo asked. He threw the lube over so he could stand back up long enough to get his pants off. 

Henry’s answer was a smirk; not one single ounce of offense registering on his face. He was as relaxed as a drunk man in a hot tub. Rather than wasting any time with words he focused all his attention on Bobo’s body, watching as he pushed his pants off his waist. That smile didn’t change at all but his eyebrows lifted just far enough to be noticeable. When he finished assessing Bobo’s dick for suitability, he _finally_ said, “yes.”

\--

It was truly a goddamn waste that their first go around in this circle had been hindered by Robert’s embarrassment and shame. Because this new version of him was disastrously attractive, luxuriating in the knowledge that he was going to get exactly what he’d set out to get. If Robert of a hundred and thirty years ago hadn’t been so dead-set on pretending that he wasn’t longing for cock, things might have gone better for him.

Right here, right now, _Bobo_ moved up his body in slow motion, running his tongue up Doc’s body from the tip of his cock to the base of his throat. His teeth were blunt and worrying, nipping at the tender skin over his jumping pulse. He had crawled right between Doc’s legs like he belonged there (and why wouldn’t he, since he’d been invited). 

Doc was a fan of foreplay and all things that felt _good_ but even without the sex circle amping up the needy ache in his dick, it _had_ been a hundred and thirty years since he’d properly touched another person. It was a miracle that he hadn’t cum just from getting kissed, and there just no sense in pushing his luck any further.

He pulled Bobo up so he could kiss him as he wrapped a leg around his back to pull his hips down. Doc couldn’t work out what feeling was more immediate, how _good_ it felt to be smothered, how _promising_ that instinctive rock of Bobo’s hips was or how eagerly Bobo moved to kiss him. The first time they’d done this it had felt more like a chore than anything; every sensation was heightened to the point of becoming unbearable but there had been no authentic desire behind it.

Oh hell, but the way Bobo’s nails scratched down his skin, leaving pink streaks of raw heat was driving them both mad. If Doc could have thought of anything that wasn’t tilting his hips like an invitation, he might have asked why they couldn’t have just done this under normal circumstances. 

(That may have ruined the mood however, as there had to be several very good reasons that a man shouldn’t want to have sex with a demon.)

Bobo seemed to understand the impatience, because he pulled away from kissing Doc to grab across the sheet to where he’d dropped his bottle of lube. His weight shifted to the right as he poured a little fountainful of the lube into his palm. Doc was catching his breath with his chin against his chest, staring down the overheated length of their bodies. Bobo’s hands were efficient: quick and almost impersonal, fisted around his own cock. It slipped through his grip with slippery slurps as his breath hitched in his throat. 

There was that growling sound again; a surge of heat that spread across his skin like a fresh forest fire. Even Bobo’s eyes seemed to go all red-and-pink tinted. He pressed a kiss against a damp patch of Doc’s skin, meandering along his collarbone as his fingers rubbed the remainder of the skin-warm lube in place. 

“You’ve done this before?” Bobo asked. 

Doc pulled his legs up so he could wrap his knees around Bobo’s ribs as he smiled at him, “I did not realize that I was being so coy.”

Bobo looked as much as a man falling in love as a man struck dumb with lust. His perfectly styled hair had fallen to disarray, hanging forward as he wasted a moment looming over Doc. And when the moment broke, he made a sound like a laugh as he pushed _in_. 

There was the slim and fleeting possibility that Doc had remembered wrong from the first time. A hundred years in a well could lead a man to thinking of things with a romantic light. He could have been _exaggerating_ the sheer perfection of the moment.

Oh, but his fingers were tearing open skin and his body was shivering in relief and he couldn’t even _breathe_ properly. Bobo’s arms were shaking as he groaned a noise no human could possibly make. “Oh fuck,” he gasped as he stared down at Doc.

“Yes, I believe we’ve established our intention,” Doc said.

Bobo kissed him, while they still had the time to think clearly. While that urgency built back to intolerable. They would be fucking like rabbits, pushed onward toward relief by a magic as powerful as instinct. Doc could feel it spreading through him, like drops on a pond, rippling outward from any place Bobo touched. 

But just for a moment, it still felt something like reality with one hand on Bobo’s back and the other holding his face as they kissed.

\--

Bobo was not certain when the trees stopped shaking. Time could not withstand the force of an orgasm that felt like it rearranged the molecules his body was made of. Feeling it again, he wasn’t even certain how he had lived through it the first time. Laying here with his back against the rumpled sheet, he wasn’t even entirely sure he had lived through it this time. 

For a moment, or many moments, or an hour--who could be sure--he drifted in a pleasant little pool of peace. 

Henry moved first but only so far as to grab his cigarillos and the bottle of liquor that Bobo had brought. He took a drink first and passed the bottle over to him before he lit the cigarillo. “Is it too soon to do that again?” He looked over at him with a grin on his face but the question itself seemed genuine.

“The witch said it should last indefinitely. So,” Bobo shrugged. He sat up far enough to take a drink and rested the bottle in the narrow space between them. “Maybe if we walked out of it and walked back in?”

Henry considered that as he took a drag off his cigarillo. His skin hadn’t even cooled from the last time but his tongue chased the flavor of the smoke and sweat across his lips. When he moved it was to put a leg across Bobo’s hips and sit back against his thighs. 

There were red splotches on his body from where Bobo’s teeth had nipped at him. The cum on his chest was still wet enough to slide down through the sweat. But Henry leaned forward with his hands against the ground over Bobo’s shoulders. The smell of smoke so close to Bobo’s face he could almost feel the heat of it burning down. 

“We could try it once without magical intervention,” Doc said. “I get the impression that you do not want it commonly known that you have a sexual interest in me, and once we leave this secluded section of the forest we cannot be seen to be friendly. I _am_ curious to know what we can do with our own bodies, aren’t you?”

“I’m a demon,” Bobo said, so that nobody could say he hadn’t.

“I am immortal,” Henry said, “and that did not answer my question.”

Well, if Henry was _asking_. “Finish your cigarillo.”

Henry’s smile was barely tolerable, but the way he straightened back up to put the whole of his perfect body on display was even less so. The victorious twinkle of his eye was almost offensive but not one single part of Bobo’s body could find the energy to be offended by it. 

**Author's Note:**

> very likely to have a second chapter.


End file.
